Dirt In My Eyes
by i-effed-it-all-up
Summary: "You kiss her with ferocity, anger, fire. You hold her face in your hands and your thumbs press into her cheeks hard enough to bruise but you can't stop yourself. She reaches for your shirt, begins to tug. She rips it over your head unceremoniously and grabs your hips, hard." / oneshot


You get the call around midnight.

With a sigh of irritation you pick up your cell and answer it without pulling your eyes from your laptop screen. "Yes?"

"Delphine?"

You slap your laptop closed and leap to your feet. "Cosima? What is it?"

"Um," her voice sounds wrong. Your panic rises.

"Cosima," you say.

"Can you c….come 'n get me?" She's slurring her words. You wipe a hand over your forehead.

"Yes," you say. "Yes, yes, of course. Where are you?"

"Th-that little bar we went to last week. Um – I can't remember the street?"

"I will be there in ten," you say. "Don't go anywhere."

"Okay," she croaks, and then the line goes dead. You rub your eyes and take a deep breath and wonder which one of you pissed off the universe in a past life.

—

She's sitting with her head in her hands at a table in the corner. You approach her slowly, but she still jumps at your hand on her shoulder.

"Oh," she sighs. "Delph-phine. Heyyyy." She giggles a bit. "Well, this is embarrassing."

"We've all been here," you tell her emotionlessly. "Come along, now. Time to go home." You pull her up by her elbow and wrap a protective arm around her shoulders. They sag, and she feels so tiny. You can feel her struggling for breath against you – feel the way her ribs don't quite expand to their fullest, the way her lungs rattle like rust in a tin can.

You long to be back in front of your laptop. You wish to be scanning the genome for answers.

You want to be doing something more productive than hauling Cosima's drunken form out of a bar.

"I don't understand," you say as you pull out of the parking lot. Cosima's head whips around.

"What?"

You tighten your grip on the steering wheel. "Why you would – why you would go and do something like this. Do you really need to drown your sorrows in alcohol? It isn't healthy, and I can't imagine it's good for your condition."

She looks away. "Because I'm scared," she admits.

"Of what?!" Even you are surprised by the volume of your voice, and you are reminded of that time, not too long ago, when Cosima had yelled those same words.

"I'm scared to die," she says, as if ashamed.

"You're not going to die!" Your voice is getting louder. A fire grows in your belly and you're sweating. "What… what do you think I do all day? I'm going to find a cure, Cosima."

"But what if you can't?" Her voice has gone quiet. She doesn't look at you.

"I can. I will," you say, and your voice is just as quiet – deathly so. "Have faith in me, Cosima. Please."

You don't cry because you're driving and it's dark and you'll be damned if Cosima dies in a car accident after you've worked so hard to keep her alive.

You pull into a parking space outside of Cosima's apartment. You throw the car in park with a huff and knot your fingers in your hair, taking a moment because if you don't you will break.

"Delphine?" She is tentative. You don't answer, so she doesn't say any more.

You guide her up to her apartment. Her breathing is ragged by the time you reach the top of the stairs, but you pretend not to hear it. You try not to imagine her struggling up these stairs every day by herself, growing weaker and weaker with each trip.

You try and you try but in the end it is worth nothing.

You're working towards a cure but that means nothing in the long run because what have you found? Nothing. You've found nothing.

You are nothing. Everything is nothing.

And she is there, hand on your shoulder. "Delphine?" she asks, voice quivering. "I'm sorry. I-" But she is interrupted by your lips.

You kiss her with ferocity, anger, fire. You hold her face in your hands and your thumbs press into her cheeks hard enough to bruise but you can't stop yourself. She reaches for your shirt, begins to tug. She rips it over your head unceremoniously and grabs your hips, hard.

Your bodies press together and it is as if you are trying to climb inside each other's bones. Maybe you are. It would be better than letting her go.

You're naked and on the bed before you can think. But you aren't thinking, and for once your bodies do not move in rhythm – instead there is a terror, a desperation that makes you both clumsy. There are knees and there are elbows and there are tears.

Tears?

"Delphine," she sighs when you begin to sob. As soon as you start you can't stop, so she pulls you down against her chest and she runs her hands through your hair but it hurts because the more she loves you the more you imagine the horror of life without her.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, over and over again, as if it's her fault fate's handed her this card.

You aren't sure when you fall asleep. It's a miracle you even do.

You dream of petal-less flowers and a sky without a sun.

You wake up hating yourself more than ever.


End file.
